


Angel

by wildrosesandpeonies



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne's House Of Dreams - L. M. Montgomery, MONTGOMERY L. M. - Works, Rilla of Ingleside - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Child Death, Death, Family, Gen, Nostalgia, Other, War, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildrosesandpeonies/pseuds/wildrosesandpeonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Rilla of Ingleside. Conversations between Anne and Shirley bonding about the lost Blythe child, Joyce. Mostly from Anne's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel

ANGEL

Shirley sat watching his mother. She was very quiet today. Moving as though   
she saw a ghost---or were a ghost herself. The warmth, radiance, the fire   
that usually permeated her eyes, body, and voice was not there. A flimsy   
glow came and went, but sadness was all that remained.

"Mother, are you thinking about the war?" Shirley asked tentatively.

Anne looked up, startled. The war, which had taken two of her babies, had   
split the family apart, eventually to take Shirley (although Anne did not   
know that yet). Who could forget about the war? But, surprisingly, the war   
was not what she had been thinking of.

"No, Shirley, I was reflecting on if Joyce had lived. I'm glad she didn't   
live to see the world fall apart and crumble."

Joyce. Joyce, the oldest of the Blythe children--and the one who did not   
live. The first House of Dreams baby. Joyce, the wee little white angel,   
wrapped in white, buried in the graveyard.

"You never speak much about Joyce," Shirley said quietly. It was true. All   
the Blythe children knew they had a sister, Joyce, who had died. They knew   
every year Mum and Dad placed flowers at her grave. They had even been to   
the grave. But feel the tradegy, hard as they might (and they sincerely   
wished she had lived), Joyce had died too long ago for them to realize the   
significance her death had on their lives.  
Also, Anne and Gilbert did not Joyce's death to cast a shadow over their   
children's happy lives.

Anne smiled. "Had Joyce lived she would have been so beautiful, so full of   
achievement, so full of life. What a blessing her birth was--and she was   
taken so soon after."

Silence pervaded the kitchen. Susan was outside busily weeding away in the   
garden, occassionally exclaiming (not realizing she could be overheard)   
"Kitchener" or "our dear boys" or "those nasty, revolting..." and other   
snippets. The silence in the kitchen grew heavier and darker. Dr. Blythe was   
in the Glen checking on patients. Rilla and a sleeping Jims were upstairs.   
How that baby was growing! Soon, he would a young man. Well---that was years   
away. Rilla acted as if she didn't--couldn't--love Jims, but it was obvious   
to everyone that Rilla adored him more and more as the months went by. And   
that adoration was turning into love.

"I never thought--how hard--it would be--to love a   
child--anyone--until--this war--came." Shirley wanted to say more, but why   
struggle on? Was war even comparable to losing a newborn child? At least the   
people fighting in the war had had a chance to live, to dream, to fulfill   
some destiny.

"Well, Joyce didn't live and I'm thankful for that." Anne's voice was dark   
and foreboding, even bitter. Well, she had wanted Joyce to live--but not to   
live in a world of bloodshed and doom. A thought flashed across her mind:   
She would rather all her children had never been born than to live in a   
world like this.

But the thought was too hopeless for Anne to cling to. Even in her darkest   
moments (and one very black one was to come), she knew that the war would   
end and that hope was somewhere out on the horizon. Somewhere.

Carefree days like those of her youth would someday bless children again.   
And the earth would again fill with happiness. But the wounds that the   
mothers and fathers of these children carried would take many generations to   
heal.

"I only hope the scars heals in my lifetime."

Shirley, who had been in deep thought, startled at the remark. "I'm sorry   
mother. I shouldn't have asked you to remember such pain. Especially now,   
with all this chaos."

"No, Shirley. It's fine. I am no longer able to disguise my sorrow as a   
smile anyway."

Shirley gave his mother a questioning look. Anne quickly went on.

"Every year, I used to. She died today, so many yesterdays ago. For so many   
years, for--the rest of you--I've hid what her death has meant to me,   
because I wanted you to be happy. Now, with the war---I can't bear to think   
of what might happy to Jem or Walter--and so--when her day comes, and it   
does come amidst all this horror---I remember--and grieve."

"I know I'll live the life you have, mother. Maybe, I won't see the war   
either---" Anne and Shirley each gave each other a keen look, both somehow   
knowing that that statement was a lie---"but I won't forget Joyce--even if I   
never understand what it's like to lose--" Shirley trailed off into silence.

"I know you understand, Shirley."

* * * * * *

A few nights later, Anne was out on the verandah. Silence--filled with magic   
and fairy folk--pervaded the quiet yard. Anne felt as if she could almost   
see her children and the Merediths playing, laughing, being joyful and   
happy, carefree down in Rainbow Valley.

Anne did not have premonitions---and it would be many years before she   
learned of Walter's Piper---but her unusual reverie left her full of a   
feeling that happiness would again return to the world.

"Mum," Shirley had crept up behind her. "Mum, I'm glad we talked the other   
day. I'm sorry if I've been insensitive all these years to her death."

"No--you haven't. You just didn't understand. Besides, you have suffered   
too."

More than a few moments of deep thinking followed. Mother and son reluctant   
to break the magical silence that surrounded them. Perhaps, the silence was   
in some way healing to Anne, for she said, rather softly,

"I told you that if Joyce had lived she would have been beautiful and full   
of live and achievement. But" Anne paused and gave her science-minded son a   
small looked "I saw her growu up in the---spirit world---alongside all of   
us."

Shirley almost gave his mother an incredible look. But suddenly a thought   
came to him--struck him with such force, he was caught off-guard. And, yet,   
it seemed somehow right.

"You mean she's been watching over us like a guardian angel."

"Yes," Anne was shocked by the notion--and coming from Shirley, not the   
romantic Jem or the poetic Walter, or---one of the girls, who with Jims   
around, were realizing what life was like as mother (even though Rilla was   
the one raising him, they felt as if they were raising him).

"Yes, she is our guardian angel," Anne said quietly into the night long   
after Shirley had gone back inside.

* * * *

When Shirley went off to fight in the Great War, he left a note, only for   
Anne.

Dearest Mum,

Remember I am being watched over by a guardian angle. Joyce will be with   
me---keeping me safe--as she is keeping Jem safe. Joyce was with Walter when   
he passed into the spirit world and now he is watching over all of us too.

I promise you I will return home.

When I remember home, I will think of you and Dad--and all of us--and Joyce.   
Susan has been like a mother to me. Thank you for allowing her to be that,   
and for me to be her son..

Shirley

Many years would pass by before Anne showed the letter to anyone else. What   
a dear life she had had---a loving husband, wonderful children--and a   
guardian angel that made life so sweet.

Anne realized that even Joyce had lived quite a life in those few precious   
moments that she had been granted life. And Joyce's spirit had lived   
on---blessing the Blythes in her own sweet way.

 

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